


Private Performance

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collapsing back onto the carpet to stare up at the ceiling with a faint, idiotic grin on his face, Doyle’s eyes dreamily refocused on the man highlighted by the light from the kitchen.  Bodie was looking good tonight.  But then he always did, he mused, appreciating the close-fitting evening shirt, the smooth column of the strong throat revealed by the open neck and the slightly dishevelled hair.  Abruptly he looked away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Performance

**Author's Note:**

> This story’s so old that video recorders were still something of a novelty!

Treading with exquisite care, Bodie emerged from the kitchen with the last three bottles of wine clutched in his arms. “Chilled to exactly the right degree, and served with infinite panache,” he enunciated with great clarity, through slightly numb lips. The dew coating the glass almost caused him to drop the bottle under his right arm. His co-ordination shot to hell, only reflex saved it, although a second bottle fell in the process, its landing softened by his foot.

Enjoying the expression on Bodie’s face, Doyle gave him a lazy, slow handclap. “Infinite panache, eh?”

Bodie offered him a reproving look and stately bow before he grinned and propped himself against the door jamb for support. “You’d be laughing on the other side of your face if it had smashed. These are all that are left, so let’s make ’em last.”

Collapsing back onto the carpet to stare up at the ceiling with a faint, idiotic grin on his face, Doyle’s eyes dreamily refocused on the man highlighted by the light from the kitchen. Bodie was looking good tonight. But then he always did, he mused, appreciating the close-fitting evening shirt, the smooth column of the strong throat revealed by the open neck and the slightly dishevelled hair. Abruptly he looked away.

“Too frugal, that’s your trouble, mate,” he said automatically, trying to recapture the happy haze in which he had been drifting all evening.

Conscious of the change in Doyle’s voice, Bodie peered across the room. The only light came from the digital clock on the video and the faint light of a street lamp outside, shining through the drawn curtains. He couldn’t make out Doyle’s expression and so elbowed on the light switch, flooding the room with brilliance.

“Ugh.” Doyle stirred, blinking up with no more than wide-eyed indignation, his movements lethargic. “Bodie, switch it off, for god’s sake. Yeah, that’s better. I always thought you looked better in the dark.” He gave an irritable wriggle, seeking a more comfortable spot upon which to lay his weary head. Sprawling across the thick rug, his legs stretched out in front of him and his head resting on the edge of the sofa, he looked comfortable - if slightly dissolute.

“Can’t accuse me of being frugal while you’re around, mate. You give a whole new meaning to the concept of ‘careful’. It must be a habit I’ve learned from you.” Bodie clambered over the narrow-hipped body to reach the sofa.

Doyle gazed up owlishly as black-clad legs stepped over him, his hand clenching into a fist in case he gave in to the almost overwhelming impulse to reach out in a lazy caress.

“No, it’s all right, don’t move,” Bodie said before he collapsed onto the cushions. Stretching out full length, his head propped on one arm of the sofa, he arched upwards, the silk cotton of his shirt tensing over the sleek flex of muscles. “Mmngh.” He gave a mumble of satisfaction as he relaxed again, feeling the brush of hair against his thigh, the weight and sensation of warmth against him. Inhaling, he smelt the faint, familiar waft of shampoo, aftershave, soap and Ray Doyle all intermingled. A good meal, good wine and good company - who could ask for anything more? Ignoring the answer which sprang to mind, he reached out for the wine bottle.

“Bugger it,” he said without heat. “You got the corkscrew down there?” There was a glint of silver as Doyle tossed it back to him. “Ta.”

Bodie refilled his own glass and leant down to top up Doyle’s. Leaning back again, he took a lengthy, luxurious swallow, content and in love with the whole world.

“Definitely a good drop of stuff, this,” he announced with smug satisfaction.

“True, though I’m surprised you can taste it, the amount of pepper you had on that steak,” said Doyle drowsily. Holding up his own glass, he gazed at it in mild approval.

“You sure you’re all right down there? We have got chairs, y’know.”

“No need to remind me. I sat on one of them once. Never again, mate. Nearly ruined for life, I was. Besides, I’m great. Absolutely terr’fic,” he declared, mid-hiccup, waving a flamboyant hand. “Anyway, it’s not so far to fall when you’re on the floor. I’d’ve thought you’d enjoy seeing me grovelling at your feet.”

“Chance would be a fine thing.” Bodie gave a pensive sigh but as Doyle did not turn round, his look of pathos was wasted. “Have you seen the amount of washing up in the kitchen?”

Doyle’s head turned at that and there was a glint of white in the darkness as he grinned. “Nah, but I can imagine. I’ve seen your kitchen on those rare occasions you cook. Look on the bright side, it’ll give you something to do when I go home.”

“Thanks.” It had been worth a try, Bodie thought philosophically.

Seeking some means of gaining his revenge, he glanced aimlessly around, a delighted grin appearing when he saw the small control console was within his reach.

Doyle winced as, just above him, he heard the high-pitched whine of the television kicking into life. The screen flickered, then he was given brief, unwanted flashes of the various channels.

“You’ll break that thing if you carry on playing with it like that.” Trying to sound severe, Doyle only sounded indulgent.

There was a thoughtful silence. “Old wives’ tale. I haven’t gone deaf yet, either.”

Bodie gave a satisfied smirk as Doyle groaned theatrically and buried his nose back in his glass, needing to fortify himself for Bodie’s next venture into humour.

“Just leave the TV off until you want to use it. I still can’t believe you’ve never seen one. You sure you’re not having me on?” he checked, on the verge of disbelief - that Bodie should have admitted as much to him apart from anything else. Getting information out of Bodie was worse than getting blood from a stone. “Didn’t you even get to see any when you were with all those rough, tough soldiers?”

“You’d better believe they were, sunshine. Some of them would have licked their lips and had you for breakfast. No, I must’ve missed the nights they were being shown. Anyway, I’ve already told you this. And would this face lie? Steal, cheat and rape, maybe, but lie? Never,” Bodie declared dramatically, ruining the effect with a loud hiccup. He ignored, with dignity, Doyle’s snort of amusement.

“Deprived childhood, that’s me,” he continued pathetically. “Not a blue movie in sight. Maybe a few lavender-coloured ones,” he conceded after a moment’s reflection, “but nothing I wouldn’t take my Granny to see.”

Pausing in the act of pouring himself another glass of wine, Doyle frowned. “You haven’t got a Granny,” he said sagely, latching on to the one certain fact.

“That’s why I wouldn’t bother,” Bodie told him with sunny good-humour, only half-successful in his attempt to stifle another hiccup. “But I still haven’t seen a blue movie.”

The tone of voice was guaranteed to tug at the heartstrings. Singularly unmoved, Doyle snorted. “Well, you haven’t missed much,” he said, remembering the vast quantities of material he’d had to sift through, in whole or in part, while he was a copper.

“You don’t want me to broaden my horizons, that’s your trouble,” accused Bodie.

“It looked broad enough to me, last time I looked,” Doyle told him unkindly. “Anyway, the novelty soon wears off. I’d sooner watch Monty Python any day.”

Bodie gave a hurt sniff and Doyle leant his head back to peer up at him. “God, you look horrible from this angle. Come on, admit it, you just want to play with that bloody video. I know you, worse than any kid, you are.” His voice trailed away, expression softening as he realised how true that was in some ways. Bodie hadn’t had much of a childhood from what little he’d let slip. He was swept by a sudden tenderness, feeling oddly protective of his self-contained and self-sufficient partner while knowing Bodie was neither. He wanted to make up for all those things Bodie had missed.

“I,” said Bodie, happily oblivious to Doyle’s mental meanderings, “am not playing with the video. Market research, that is, testing consumer dura - durables.” His expression brightened. “Still, it’s better than watching _Newsweek_ , isn’t it?”

Shaking his head, Doyle smiled. “Since when have you ever watched anything that worthy?” he demanded, half-turning to stare up at the lazily sprawled figure, resting one arm across Bodie’s thighs as he peered up at him.

“I’ve got a keen interest in current affairs,” Bodie protested, more out of habit than conviction.

Doyle waved that irrelevance aside with a languid hand, and found the near-empty bottle. He labouriously drained the dregs into Bodie’s glass and searched around for the corkscrew. “Shift your arse for a moment.” After some fumbling he found the corkscrew, warm from contact with Bodie’s body. “No sense, no feeling. Lucky, that’s what you were, mate. Listen, the only current affairs you’re interested in is who’s having it away with who in CI5. Here, have a drop more plonk. This is good stuff. Where did you get the tape from anyway?”

“Murph, of course,” said Bodie, as though it should have been obvious. He extended his glass, watching Doyle’s careful concentration as he poured the wine, one hand steadying Bodie’s, his tongue protruding between his teeth in an aid to concentration. “He collected a load of them from that Dutch guy he picked up this morning. The poor sod had a suitcase full of goodies - not so much stock as for his own use. Said he didn’t like to travel without a few of the necessities of life. He can’t think much of English porn.”

“Who, that little bloke with the limp mustache? The one who had that inflatable doll?” demanded Doyle, a wide grin appearing over the top of his glass. He’d never been able to understand the appeal of rubber.

“That’s him,” Bodie confirmed, eyeing his partner with a trace of surprise. Ray should do that more often, he thought, a trifle bemused. Funny he hadn’t noticed Doyle’s chipped tooth before. He wondered when Ray had got that because it didn’t look like a new injury. Just one more imperfection to an already flawed face, yet it suited him, Bodie decided. He only just stopped himself from informing his partner of that fact.

“That guy must’ve been thick as shit,” Doyle dismissed, wondering in a vague kind of a way why Bodie was staring at him so intently. “Fancy carrying all that porn while you’re working.”

“He wasn’t the only stupid one,” Bodie told him with a dreamy, reminiscent pleasure. “Being the incompetent sod that he is, Murph left the tapes out on the duty room table while he went to take a pee. Cowley came in to inspect the troops while Murph was gone. It’s true,” he assured Doyle as the other man gave a choke of laughter. “Our George was not at all amused.” His mouth pursed in unaccustomed prim lines before it relaxed into a crooked grin. “He told me to dispose of the tapes in an appropriate place.”

“So naturally, you brought them home with you. Terrific.” Doyle settled back against the couch, his head propped now against Bodie rather than the cushion and closed his eyes, starting to drift in a rosy haze of well-being. “You know what will happen, of course,” he mused. “We’ll be half-way through the first tape when the Vice Squad arrives - or even worse, Customs & Excise. It’d be just like Cowley to sic them on us.” He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Unless, maybe he thought you’d earned a treat. He can read you like a book, and that droopy-eyed look of pathos you turn on at the drop of a hat seems to work on him. There can’t be anyone who hasn’t heard about this bloody video player of yours.”

He gazed at the machine in question with disapproval. “Waste of money, that was. You know what your trouble is, you’re too predictable.”

Bodie had not been paying attention to what Doyle was saying, just enjoying the sound of the warm, drink-roughened voice. “You didn’t have to come round to watch the tapes.”

“What, and leave you with a dinner for two and all that wine? It wouldn’t have been right,” said Doyle piously. “Partners should stick together.”

“Besides which, you got stood up as well,” said Bodie, having few illusions where Doyle was concerned. He grasped a handful of soft brown curls, tugging at them gently and enjoying the sensation of the thick, silky hair threading through his fingers.

Doyle’s head came back in obedience to the gentle pressure, his throat taut as he peered up at Bodie, his own face a pale blur, eyes glinting a little in the half-light. He gave a slow, lazy grin of acknowledgement. “That too.”

“I always knew you only loved me for my cooking,” said Bodie with sorrow.

“Christ. This from the only person I know who can burn a poached egg.” Doyle resumed his former comfortable sprawl, staring with interest down the length of his legs as he wriggled his toes, just to reassure himself they were still there. He drank the last of his wine with an almost sensual pleasure.

“You know, this is a good drop of stuff,” he told Bodie, surprised. “Your taste must be improving.”

“You can’t improve on perfection, sunshine. This is classy stuff all right. Like to like.” Bodie gave Doyle’s head a playful nudge with his knee. “Right, can we start the film show now?”

Like a bloody kid. “Yeah, fine,” Doyle agreed easily. “How many tapes did you nick?” This could turn out to be a long evening.

“Just the one,” said Bodie virtuously. “A three- hour one. I dunno what’s on it. The titles aren’t exactly a lot of help. Murph never got the chance to examine the goods properly. Most upset he was.”

“I can imagine. So how come you didn’t invite him round as well?” asked Doyle incuriously, taking his own inclusion in any of Bodie’s plans for granted.

Bodie noticed that supreme confidence and gave a malicious grin. “I didn’t find out I’d been stood up till after he left. It seemed too much effort to chase up a new bird for the night, so I thought I’d make do with you.” It was as good an excuse as any. They didn’t get the chance to share so many evenings together that he would waste the opportunity.

“Cheers.” Doyle reached back to grab the bottle nestling at Bodie’s side and found warm skin and soft material instead. He paused for a moment, then turning, took the bottle. “Still, I’m glad I’m here. It’s been a good evening,” he added unexpectedly, wanting Bodie to know that.

The room was warm, the contented atmosphere reflecting the mood of the two men. The rain lashing down against the windows outside and the comfortable knowledge that they had a free weekend ahead of them served only to increase their sense of well-being.

It _had_ been a good evening, thought Bodie muzzily; their time spent in idiotic half-conversations and abominable jokes, companionable silences and amiable squabbling. Par for the course for them. But it still surprised him, when he stopped to think about it, how well he and Ray got on, how close they’d become over the years; to the point where he couldn’t imagine his life without Ray.

“No, it’s not been bad,” he agreed belatedly, giving the head leaning against him a condescending pat.

Doyle did not react to the provocation. “Knock it off,” he mumbled placidly. “I’m too comfortable.”

Bodie glanced appreciatively at the sleepy, half-averted profile and relaxed body, enjoying the sight. Ray’s date must have been quite something. He’d pulled out all the stops tonight, looking very spruce when he’d first arrived. It hadn’t lasted of course. Ray was a born scruff. The tie had been the first to go, no doubt it would turn up somewhere. The shoes and jacket were at different ends of the room, and the soft, cotton evening shirt was half-undone and creased, the sleeves rolled up.

It was funny, Bodie reflected wisely. He didn’t often stop to _look_ at Doyle and so hadn’t appreciated just how beautiful he could appear. As he couldn’t imagine Doyle appreciating the comment in the spirit in which it had been meant, Bodie kept it to himself.

Intrigued by the lights and shadows of the oddly structured face, he slid a drunken finger down the flawed profile, following the planes and rounded angles to the jaw. The smooth, firm, slightly damp skin felt good.

“You’ve had a shave,” he announced, discovery and surprise mixed in his expression.

“Had a shower too,” Doyle told him in tart surprise before he relaxed, making no effort to pull away as the finger drifted over his face. “Well, I wanted to look my best, didn’t I?” he said, lugubrious as he recalled his earlier plans for an evening which had nothing to do with the idiot lying behind him. He conveniently chose not to admit the pleasure he’d felt when Bodie rang him and suggested they spent the evening together.

“You shouldn’t have, I’m not worth it,” Bodie told him with humble sincerity, touched.

“Damn right you’re not,” agreed Doyle with feeling. His grin faded and he watched Bodie’s languorous movements with a sudden intensity, an unfathomable expression in his eyes before he masked them with his lashes. Too much wine, he told himself firmly.

He gave the muscled thigh a prod. “Listen, are we gonna sit here pissin’ about all evening, or are we gonna broaden your education while we can still see straight?”

“Why not both?” suggested Bodie.

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” wondered Doyle out loud.

“Because I’m the one with the brains?”

Doyle gave an evil-sounding chuckle and prodded the lean flank behind him with a meaningful finger. “Yeah, an’ I know where you keep ’em, too.”

 

Feeling decidedly mellow an hour later, Doyle’s fixed gaze remained wide-eyed and bored on the flickering screen, where the next credits had just appeared.

“ _Confessions of a_ \- I don’t believe it! - _a Colour Sergeant_!” He paused, a lecherous grin appearing. “Ah. In fact, Ah-ha. No wonder you joined the Army, mate. That’s a nice pair of tits she’s got on her.”

“Not bad. Lousy arse, though.” judged Bodie with the eye of an expert, his voice faintly slurred as he reached down for the one remaining unopened bottle.

“It’s not that bad,” defended Doyle, tilting his head to follow it round before giving up as the performance grew more athletic.

“It’s not that great, either,” said Bodie brutally, disillusioned about the quality of the performance they had seen so far. His lavender-coloured movies were looking quite good in retrospect, though he wasn’t going to admit as much to Doyle.

“Maybe not, but I still wouldn’t mind waking up with that curled up next to me.” Doyle’s mouth pouted in a wistful droop. But he wrinkled his nose as the familiar writhings began, this time with only three figures. “They’ll not earn any Oscars, that’s for sure.” Detached from the synthetic passion being enacted before him, he watched with a critical eye. “I wonder if this sort of work pays any better these days?”

Bodie cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “Why, you thinking of taking it up in your spare time? George won’t like that.” His arm lay draped over Doyle’s shoulder, heavy and relaxed, at home.

“Nah, no way,” said Doyle firmly, grinning a little. “Strictly private performances only, that’s me. Poor cow, you can see her goosebumps from here.”

Bodie had stopped listening to the soft, slurred voice, a shiver running through him as he remembered one less than private performance he had seen Ray Doyle give. One drunken night when, in love with the world, he and Ray had double-dated.

“...on after this? Or at least fast forward it. There’s nothing of interest here, and that blond bloke is starting to irritate the hell out of me. He’s got no style, and about as much finesse as a drunken hippo...” Doyle’s voice receded into the background as the carefully buried memories resurfaced with an aching clarity.

It hadn’t been the first time he and Ray had double-dated by any means. Probably wouldn’t be the last, though neither of them had suggested it since. That night had been different from any other he had known; lit with promise from the first.

It had been a good week. A successful week. They had survived it in style, well pleased with themselves and each other; even Cowley had loved them. Already high on euphoria, they’d gone out to celebrate on their newly recovered expense money. Ritzy hotel, d-js, the works. The leisurely meal had been great, the wine, cool and crisp, adding lustre to an already sparkling evening. Too drunk to drive, they had booked a suite at the hotel.

In the event, they hadn’t got beyond the first bedroom. He could still visualise the bed; not the room, just the bed. Massive, it had been.

“...shall we?”

Funny that, thought Bodie, vaguely perplexed. He could remember the bed, but not the bird he’d been with. Nor Ray’s, come to that.

One-night stand then. Nothing unusual in that. There’d been a lot of them in his life. Too many, perhaps, the faces blurring, figures confused.

He hadn’t even noticed Ray at first, he’d been too engrossed in his own partner for the night. Now he couldn’t even remember her. But he could remember finally sinking back against the pillows, waiting for his pulse to slow and the sweat to dry on his skin while he continued to caress her inner thigh. A sharp sound of pleasure reminded him they were not alone. He had glanced over the top of his drowsy date to find his every perception changed.

The engrossed interlocked figures on the other side of the vast bed had moved in a fierce, perfect fusion. He could still see the driving power in that long spine, the pale honey-coloured skin marked by a stranger’s hands and teeth. The unintelligible murmurs drifting across to him, the sounds changing as urgency increased, the muscular buttocks pumping hard now.

Voyeurism had never been his scene; he had always preferred to be part of the action. Watching Ray was something else entirely. Mesmerised, he had stared with a heavy-lidded hunger, knowing a fierce, unexpected envy; wanting to experience that passion.

As though conscious of his devouring gaze, Ray’s head had lifted; face flushed and heavy with passion, eyes narrowed to clouded, pleasure-filled slits, the full lips had parted as he cried out - the sensual, pagan face of a stranger. Then all movement had been suspended, frozen in Ray’s look of concentrated ecstasy. And at that moment he had blindly reached out a hand to Bodie.

Fiercely aroused, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to take Ray’s hand, feeling their flesh become one as the long fingers curled around his, gripping strongly. And so he had shared in the intensity of Ray’s orgasm, his own flesh lifting in helpless response.

Ray’s grip had finally eased, his sweating face now buried in pert breasts and streaming hair. He had whispered something then, giving one breast a friendly lick in parting before he had looked up and smiled, his expression one of uncomplicated delight, the passion-hazed eyes searching him out, holding his gaze.

The stupid joke Bodie had been about to make had died, unvoiced, self-consciousness dropping from him. Returning that smile, he had run his hand lightly down the sweat-slicked spine, feeling Ray shiver at his touch and move closer.

They had slept then, the languid curl of entwined bodies innocent in sleep. He had woken to the caresses of three pairs of hands, three mouths teasing him awake. Drawn up, helpless, suspended at the point of climax, even then, with his face buried in scented feminine flesh, he had known, and separated Ray’s touch from the others, joyfully giving himself to those familiar hands. His subconscious had pushed that memory to one side - until now.

“Bodie. Have you taken to going to sleep with your eyes open, or are these skin flicks getting to you?” demanded Doyle. Anxious because of Bodie’s prolonged silence, he slung an arm around his shoulders, his other hand against the broad chest.

Pierced by a familiar achingly sweet itch, the realisation ebbed and flowed, leaving Bodie stranded on an island of disbelief and denial, knowing all the while that it wasn’t just desire he felt for Ray Doyle. Eyes heavy and brilliant with need, he gave an unconvincing grin, knowing his face must be flushed and uncomfortably aware of every inch of his body as he looked at his partner’s face with a new clarity.

“Wha - ?” He belatedly absorbed what he had been asked. “Nah, but maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he admitted, his voice husky and slow to recover its usual tone. “This might not be hot stuff, but it’s starting to remind me of what I’m missing. You’re no substitute.” Somehow the intended lightness was missing from his voice.

“Too right I’m not,” agreed Doyle, sharp as Bodie’s unexplained tension penetrated his wine-sodden haze of satisfaction. There was an expression in Bodie’s tangle-lashed eyes he didn’t understand. His hands gentle on the other man, Doyle remained where he was, studying Bodie carefully, as though seeing him for the first time.

Uneasy under the disconcerting clarity of that green stare, Bodie glanced over the white-clad shoulder to the flickering TV screen, where the writhing figures moved toward a predictable climax. Unmoved, he watched the athletic coupling, seeing another body. The picture jumped and as it settled down again it was obvious they were in the next film.

Bodie gave a startled half-choke, and for an incredulous moment forgot to breathe.

Trying to account for his partner’s expression, Doyle half-turned back to the screen and visibly paused. He opened his mouth to say something, thought the better of it, and slowly settled down to watch, leaning back against Bodie again. For a moment, for a split second, he had thought that smooth muscled back and cropped hair belonged to Bodie. But there was no similarity. Not really. Not even to Bodie as he had seen him that one night.

Completely naked by now, the screen couple drew apart slightly to slide to the floor. The smaller man’s face came into focus, his curly head bending over his partner’s straining erection as he teased it with his tongue before his mouth parted to engulf the straining flesh, accommodating it with a pleasure which even the grainy, poor-quality film could not disguise.

Doyle licked dry lips and shivered, a heavy urgent throbbing centring in his groin.

“Thought that was you, for a moment.” Bodie’s voice, sounding deep and grave and curiously wistful, drifted out of the darkness. “Something about the arse looked familiar,” he added in a more recognisable tone. His hand continued to rest in the junction of Doyle’s neck and shoulder, his index finger lightly stroking the base of the strong throat.

Rapidly beginning to sober, Doyle stared blindly out across the room as a number of pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Gradually he relaxed, his cheek rubbing against the hand brushing it; he would worry about the implications later if he had to. Now he didn’t want to think, wanted only to keep hold of the moment. Instinct turned him back to the half-recumbent figure, propping one arm across Bodie’s legs while remaining within the circle of his arm.

“You’d know better than me,” Doyle conceded finally, his voice low and roughened with sudden tension. A slow smile spread down from his eyes. “You’re the one who has to watch it the most.”

“I get paid for it too.” Bodie’s eyes crinkled a little as he smiled. “Doesn’t seem fair, really.”

“That’s the only point of similarity, though,” Doyle added absently, his glance sliding back to watch the fully-erect Doyle surrogate with an expression of superiority.

“I know,” Bodie reminded him, his voice as soft and rough as velvet. His finger slid along the thinly-fleshed collar bone, brushing aside the soft cotton.

Doyle met his eyes then and gave a throaty chuckle. “Yeah. I’d forgotten that. Dunno how I could have - easier perhaps. I didn’t know how to deal with it so it was easier to pretend to forget it. You made it good for me that evening.” His expression changed, Bodie’s desire-darkened eyes telling him that Bodie remembered that night equally well.

“The thing about blue movies,” Doyle added confidingly, when it became obvious that Bodie wasn’t going to break the silence which had fallen, “is that you always think you could do better.” It was a statement and a question combined.

In an untypical display of patience Doyle continued to watch Bodie’s now shuttered face; from the downsweep of those ridiculously long eyelashes to the pensive droop to the mouth. A slow, sweet longing filled his every sense. Content to wait, Doyle settled himself more comfortably on the floor at Bodie’s side. His arm brushed the taut straining at his partner’s groin and he felt the twitch of response - the involuntary thrust towards the source of the stimulation.

Bodie met his gaze and suddenly Doyle was drowning in midnight blue.

“And could you?” asked Bodie. “Do better, I mean?”

The arched eyebrows rose. “I dunno,” said Doyle honestly. “I’ve never tried. Never wanted to enough - until now,” he added matter-of-factly.

Bodie’s fingers stilled in their slow caress before his hand closed over the open edge of Doyle’s shirt, his knuckles brushing the damp skin as he drew the other man closer, his own expression one of mingled speculation and arousal. His other hand slid round to cradle the back of Doyle’s skull as he leant forward, lips parted, slowly seeking the full mouth.

The walls did not crash down around them and the ceiling did not cave in, but the light, inquiring nuzzling of their barely parted mouths started a sweet fire in the blood, the taste and feel more intoxicating than any wine.

Doyle had wondered what it would be like to kiss that long mouth. Now he knew. His shaking hands encircled Bodie’s head, fingers lacing through dark silky hair.

“You in any rush?” he whispered huskily.

Suspended in a limbo where only they existed, Bodie shook his head, nodded then sought Doyle’s mouth again, feeling it part for him, welcoming him into wine-soaked sweetness with a growing urgency.

The languorous exploration deepened, desire-driven hands seeking beneath shirts, tugging them clear of waistbands, wanting no impediment between them. Half off the sofa now, half on the floor, they pulled blindly at fasteners and zips, peeling away trousers, kicking away shoes, socks and tangled pants with muttered imprecations, unwilling to lose this contact for even a second.

They hardly noticed when they fell from sofa to floor, locked blindly around each other. At the first electric contact of skin against damp skin, they groaned with pleasure as their cocks batted and prodded one another. Hands avid now, their movements changed as they found a clumsy rhythm to provide the final stimulation.

Rolling together in a sweat-streaked knot of limbs, arching to meet each other, they reached a fierce, noisy climax, their voices drowning out the sounds of counterfeit passion from the television playing, unnoticed, in the background.

His face buried in the hollow of Doyle’s neck, still shuddering slightly from the force that had ripped through him, Bodie was, quite literally, speechless. Holding tightly to his only familiar point of reference in a world suddenly gone crazy, he knew himself to be poised on the edge of some great void, unable to believe he actually held his naked, love-sticky partner in his arms. He only knew it felt the most natural place for Ray to be.

The hands which had gripped him with such a fierce strength were gentle now, caressing spine, buttocks and flanks with a thoughtful pleasure.

Then a familiar voice whispered, “Christ, Bodie.”

Hearing the shaken, dazed note of wonder and disbelief reassuringly allied to unmistakable pleasure, Bodie knew himself to be falling - not into a void. More, he knew it would be, quite gloriously, all right.

Propping himself up onto his elbows, he stared enquiringly into the face only inches from his own, seeing the stubble-darkened chin, the fine-pored, faintly damp skin above, the laughter lines at the side of the sensual mouth and wide-spaced eyes that were devouring him with an equal intensity.

Bending, Bodie lightly licked the sweat below one eye, his tongue tracing around the curve and hollow beneath it, tasting salt and the unique taste of Ray Doyle. He nodded approvingly, then cupped the tousled head between his capable hands.

“D’you mind?” he thought to ask, enchanted by the taste, scent and feel of the man he held, irrationally wishing the moment could last forever, that he had the words to tell Ray how he felt and that Doyle would want to hear them.

There was a flash of white and a glimpse of that broken tooth as Doyle grinned, mutely shaking his head, studying the grave face above him with unmistakable delight dancing in his eyes.

With infinite gentleness now, Bodie’s mouth travelled across the exotic face, exploring the contours as though it was uncharted territory. Only when he arrived at the swollen mouth did Doyle actively respond, his hands clenching on the broad back bent over him with a sudden strength, unable to remain still any longer.

As their mouths parted, Doyle’s hand lightly brushed the sweat from Bodie’s forehead, tracing the curve of a crooked eyebrow with lazy pleasure.

“You’ve no idea how often I’ve wanted to do that recently. No, I don’t mind, sunshine. Not one bit,” and his mouth gently captured Bodie’s full lower lip, nuzzling, his tongue teasing the soft inner lip before retreating again.

“Been wanting this, you, for so long. Oh, god, come here,” he groaned, rolling over to cover Bodie with the length of his body. But he wanted it to last, to take these exquisite sensations coursing through him and the body beneath him slowly this time, and visibly sought for a little control, shaken by the intensity of his desire. His mouth was covering Bodie’s again, their breath mingling. He slowly nipped the top lip before ceding control and a velvety tongue slid to explore the moist recesses of his own mouth, Bodie’s hands sweeping down his spine.

They moved continuously now, stroking and touching at will, voices murmuring soft encouragement as they learned each other’s bodies. There was nothing tentative between them, only certainty and a pleasure so great they thought they must die of it, the tenderness taking them both unawares.

“Yes. Oh, yeah!”

Doyle’s own hands stilled, his body arching up to meet Bodie’s questing blunt-tipped finger that slid so gently into his body, caressing the walls of the hot, tight channel that claimed it with such hunger.

“Ray.”

The breath catching uncertainly in his throat, Bodie froze, then slowly withdrew. Ignoring the fierce ache of his body, his hands slid to hold the narrow flanks, hesitant about the speed with which they were progressing, afraid he might be asking for too much.

Doyle’s hands rose to cover his, holding them firmly in place. He lowered his head, until their faces were almost touching.

“Don’t stop,” he instructed huskily. “I want that - you inside me,” he added fiercely, wanting there to be no possible doubt. “But first - ” He shook his head, a wry expression overtaking desire. “First, I need to pee.”

“What?” Disorientated, Bodie stared at him in disbelief.

“Yeah. Lousy timing, I know.” Doyle’s exasperation with himself was obvious.

No voice should sound that good, particularly not while it told his cock it was going to have to wait. Bodie’s mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling with delight before he began to chuckle, helpless at the apologetic look on Doyle’s face.

His laughter was contagious. Moments later the pair of them had collapsed into an incoherent heap.

“I don’t believe it. Now, of all times. Me of the iron bladder. It’s your fault, forcing all that wine down me,” Doyle accused, reluctantly disentangling his legs from Bodie’s. “Oh, god. Will I make it, that’s the question.” He began a shaky path to the bathroom, only to find himself brushed aside just inside the door.

“Hey,” he said in mock indignation. “Whose flat is this?”

“Mine, as it happens,” Bodie told him, grinning over one shoulder. “Owner’s privilege. Not a bad idea of yours, this. Besides, I’d rather not have any interruptions later.”

“Yeah, right.”

The room seemed bright after the near darkness, Bodie’s face relaxed, confident and somehow unfamiliar all of a sudden. All trace of humour fading from his face, Doyle perched on the edge of the bath, flinching as the cold surface met his over-heated skin. In the bald light of day - What the hell had they gotten themselves into? His gaze dropped, looking at nothing in particular.

“Ray?” Bodie crouched down in front of him, hands resting on his knees to gain his attention.

Reluctantly, Doyle looked up. Bodie was looking remarkably sober and he could see no trace of doubt in his partner’s eyes, just a warm, deep, intense blue.

“You OK?” Bodie asked softly, seeing the confusion on Ray’s face with a sinking feeling.

“I dunno,” Doyle admitted honestly, pushing a hand back through his hair. “Bodie, I - ”

Bodie released him and rose to his full height. “Take your time, mate. First things first, eh?” he reminded, making a grandiose gesture to the freed facilities and managing to smile. “I’ll be in the other room, we can talk then,” he added and padded out of the room, leaving Doyle alone with his confusion.

On the point of leaving the bathroom, Doyle paused, glancing at the mirror to see faintly worried-looking eyes staring back at him. Must have been mad, he thought numbly. Crazy. And what was crazier, he didn’t want to change a thing. He wanted it to last forever. Wanted more. Wanted Bodie so badly it almost hurt. But what did Bodie want, that was the thing. When he came right down to it that was all that mattered.

It was no great surprise to see they could make it together, not after that one night he had tried so hard to pretend had never happened. All for nothing. Holding Bodie, sticky and shaking in his arms, he had discovered he wanted much more than shared passion. He needed more than a night, a week or a month. And that scared him.

He didn’t want to ruin the unique relationship they had by making demands Bodie couldn’t - or wouldn’t - want to meet. But he didn’t trust himself not to make them if he went back into that room. And if he didn’t go back he’d never find out what Bodie wanted.

Doyle left the bathroom before his shaky determination could waver.

The television in the living room had been switched off, and the room was deserted.

‘In the other room’ Bodie had said. So if he wasn’t here he must be there. Doyle quietly moved to stand in the open bedroom door. Bodie had come into the bedroom, making it easy for him, asking a silent question he could choose to ignore if he wished. Bodie’s uncertainty as to his own reaction was betrayed by the fact that the room was in complete darkness. Doyle could just see the pale blur where Bodie lay on the bed. There was a curious defenselessness to that still figure which negated Bodie’s previous manner. It hurt that he should still be so uncertain.

Doyle paused for a moment, not quite sure how to break the silence, and then switched on the light. Blinking, Bodie’s head turned, his eyes welcoming, but wary now, holding back.

“Wanted to see you, didn’t I?” Doyle explained, moving into the room, overly conscious of the blue gaze upon him. Standing at the side of the bed, he gestured to himself, “Wanted you to see me too,” he added softly, and saw Bodie’s convulsive swallow.

Without waiting for any other answer, he clambered into bed, pushing away the duvet. “That’s better.”

Reaching out, his fingers gently teased the small whorls of hair curling behind Bodie’s ear, those just visible at the neck, before his open-palmed hand slid over the shoulder, across the smooth chest, stroking down the compact beauty of muscle and warm, responsive flesh. His hand moving in a small circular caress, he traced round the small dark rose nipples, feeling them spring to meet his touch.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, as he felt the ripple of response shiver through Bodie, his hand sliding to caress chest and belly, teasing the belly button, finger sliding down, following the thin, dark line of hair, touch so delicate it was barely a touch.

“Couldn’t do this before - really look at you, I mean. You’re beautiful, sunshine. So very beautiful.” Doyle’s voice faded away to a murmur as he leant over, his mouth following a nuzzling trail after his hand, the sweet melting and tightening in his gut beginning anew.

“Glad you approve,” said Bodie finally, trying to sound nonchalant as his bones turned to water at the unfamiliar note in Doyle’s voice. Not sure that he had heard Ray correctly, he was hesitant about asking him to repeat it.

“I meant it, y’know,” Doyle told him, reading his mind with uncanny ease. Wriggling onto his stomach, he rested his arm across Bodie’s lower belly and propped his chin on the high rib-cage.

Under that green-eyed appreciation, a faint flush spread up over Bodie’s skin.

Doyle reached out, resting the back of his hand on the heated face. “I never took you for the bashful sort.”

Bodie caressed the nape of Doyle’s neck, finger drifting down the knobs of the spine, palm massaging the pad of muscle at the shoulder. “Didn’t realise it myself,” he admitted, swallowing the ridiculous lump in his throat.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

Bodie smiled at the lazy pleasure in Ray’s voice. “Yeah, it feels good. Why did we wait for so long? Seems like I’ve been wanting this for - A long time.”

Doyle rubbed his chin gently down the rib-cage, the stubble-roughened contact sending a ripple of desire shivering through his partner. “Don’t ask me, mate. It took me a while to realise what was happening - and yes, I know I’m thick. It was only when I never started fancying other fellas that I realised it must just be you I wanted. Anyway, I didn’t want to risk spoiling what we already had.”

“Me neither. We’ve wasted a lot of time.”

“Yeah,” and Doyle found he couldn’t say anything else for the emotion that was blocking his throat and blurring his vision.

Bodie eased himself up the bed, one arm drawing Doyle with him. “You’re not drunk, are you?” he checked, wanting to be sure.

A slow smile lit Doyle’s face. “I never was, sunshine, just a bit high. Why, do you want me to be?”

There was a fleeting look of confusion in Bodie’s eyes. Bodie opened his mouth, closed it again, and dumbly shook his head.

“Well, that’s all right, then because when you and me get it together, I don’t want to miss anything about the experience.”

The caress of that low, roughened voice had an immediate physical effect. Bodie valiantly tried to ignore it. “Wh - what?” he croaked.

Long fingers sifting through his hair, stilling to cup the side of his head. “I didn’t want to come the heavy, not yet, anyway. Nor make any demands. Bit soon, I told myself. But I think I love you, mate. Think I have for a very long time,” Doyle told him matter-of-factly, all doubts gone. “And right now, I’d do whatever you wanted. Anything.”

In all the months and years Bodie had spent with this complex, self-assured partner of his, he had never seen such an expression on Ray’s face. For a moment he was frozen, scarcely able to breathe. Then a wide, warm smile lit his face, flowing deep within his eyes, curling his mouth. Gently he cupped Doyle’s flawed face between his hands.

“Knew there must be a reason for me feeling this peculiar. Nice, innit?” he added in afterthought.

Knowing he must look an idiot with this fatuous grin that wouldn’t stop growing, Bodie nodded. “Daft sod. Of course I love you.” He caressed Doyle’s neck, feeling Ray’s life blood pulse beneath his touch. “Do you think we’ll be able to make it work?” Nothing had ever been quite so important to him before.

Doyle slid his arms around Bodie’s strong neck, locking them at the wrist. “Ask me again in forty years time. Stands to reason we will. If we can think about that now, odds have got to be stacked in our favour.”

“Only forty years?” Bodie’s smile was blinding.

Doyle grinned before kissing him on the nose. “Fifty would be better.” He gave a rueful shrug, then sniffed. “I’m getting soft. It’s lucky you’re holding me up, I’m shaking so much I reckon I’d fall over otherwise. I’ve never felt like this before.”

“I thought it was just me that was shaking.”

“Men of iron, that’s us,” Doyle agreed, untroubled. Bodie already knew him better than anyone else, so there wasn’t going to be much that could surprise him.

“We’ve not had much practice at sharing. It won’t be this easy all the time,” Bodie pointed out, in a feeble attempt at practicality.

“It never has been easy between us. But, even from the first I knew I wasn’t going to give up on getting to know you, whether you liked it or not. Anyway, practice makes perfect.” Doyle’s voice was muffled as he snuffled his way down Bodie’s throat, lapping at the sweat in the hollow at the base, teeth gently nipping.

“I couldn’t stand you for a couple of months. I came bloody close to flattening you in those first few weeks,” Bodie told him lovingly, looking faintly surprised as he thought back to those early days, finding it hard to believe Doyle hadn’t always been a part of his life. “It didn’t occur to me to get out, I just made my mind up to get you licked into shape.”

Doyle chuckled. “That sounds nice, yes please.” But he gave Bodie a searching look, suddenly aware of his own short-comings. “I’m probably gonna be hell to live with,” he warned. “I’ve got a rotten temper.”

“No?” Bodie gave him a look of exasperation. “Come off it, Ray, we both know that. But are you gonna pretend I’m all sweetness and light? Even you can’t be that far gone.” His severity dissolved when he saw the fatuous grin on Doyle’s face.

“Make the most of it,” Doyle told him, “right now I’d agree to anything.”

“Oh,” Bodie nodded thoughtfully. “Anything?” He tugged at the thick curls to gain his partner’s attention while that was still possible.

As Doyle lifted his head there was an expression in his hazed eyes which Bodie knew he would never get used to seeing.

“Anything,” he confirmed. He was too drugged with the scent and taste and feel of Bodie, and the urge to hug Bodie to him and never let go to be wary of the mischief glinting in Bodie’s eyes.

Bodie resolutely did his best to ignore the hands sliding over his belly and the suspicion that he was taking unfair advantage of his befuddled partner.

“Hoped you’d say that,” he said with barely concealed satisfaction, “because there’s all that washing up out in the kitchen and - Ray! For chrissake, get off, you idiot.”

“You rotten, lousy - ” But Doyle was laughing too hard to continue with his attack and then Bodie’s weight was pinning him down, hands effortlessly restraining him. “Yeah, I love you just the same. But you’re not lumbering me with all that washing up,” he said firmly, determined to take a stand. He stared longingly at the pulsing flesh just out of his reach. “Do we have to argue about it now?” His tongue flickered between his lips as he tried to free his hands, wanting to enfold Bodie, make it good for him.

His hands were released as Bodie traced down his outstretched arms, over shoulders and rib-cage, back to tease a rose-brown nipple, bending to lightly tongue it.

“Tell you what,” said Doyle, prepared to negotiate, “we can do it together.”

Bodie looked up then, laughing. “Well, I wasn’t planning on doing it all by myself.”

Somehow Doyle had the feeling that they were having two, totally dissimilar conversations. Then Bodie bent to him again, and he stopped caring.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Written May 1982
> 
>  
> 
> Printed in _HG Collected 2_


End file.
